


If We Say the Words

by sylvain



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Affection, Friends to Lovers, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Other, Protective Older Brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26950486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvain/pseuds/sylvain
Summary: Tumblr request/prompt.You and Raphael have been 'dating' but not really. It's finally time to confront your feelings, if only Raphael would make his move.Soft, sweet fic written for @bppeny32.
Relationships: Raphael (TMNT)/Reader, Raphael (TMNT)/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	If We Say the Words

Raphael's arm brushes yours as you approach your door, rough and solid and perfect. You hold yourself back from linking your arm with his and leaning in, but the fantasy niggles at the back of your mind. 

Your discussion has turned animated as you playfully argue whose Mandarin was better when you'd practiced with Meili at her family's restaurant during dinner. While Raphael was the clear winner last week at Omatsu, you think you've pulled out a win tonight. 

"Admit defeat, Raph,” you tease, switching to walk backwards. You poke his chest to make your point known. “I saw you pretending to like the peanut noodles. You could have told her you messed up your order." 

You give him a playful shove that does nothing to alter his stride, and it’s really just an excuse to touch him again.

He pretends the overcast sky is the most interesting thing he’s seen all night, but then gives you a sideways glance and a twisted scowl that has you in stitches. 

"Still a sore loser, huh?" You pivot to face front as you approach your townhouse. The steps are slick with wet fallen leaves, and as you lead the climb, Raphael steadies you with hands on your waist. 

"Sore?," he says, "Wouldn't know." You wonder how he's so unaffected by the touch that’s left you breathless. “I neva lose." The soft light of the streetlamp gives his eyes a mischievous twinkle.

"Oh, come on!" You give him a slap on the stomach before fishing for your keys. "You're coming in, right?"

Raphael tips his head with a grin, poised to say yes, when his pocket starts to ring. He lifts the phone to his ear with a gruff, "Hello," and a voice speaks immediately over the line.

Raphael meets your eyes. You smile, but he turns away. 

He grunts into the phone, trying to mask his frustration with short answers and a tight jaw. But it bleeds through his protests. 

You slide your hand up the curve of his shell in silent support of whatever he's going through. The clench and release pattern of the free hand at his side gives away his struggle to keep his even tone. You're proud of him for not losing his cool.

Abruptly, the conversation comes to an end. Raphael turns, his bulk and stature smaller somehow as he rounds his shoulders and dips his head low. He gives you a soft, despondent look before dropping his gaze to where your hands are linked. You don’t remember reaching out for him. You cover Raphael's hand as it flexes and turns.

When his eyes meet yours again, they're searching. Intense, and wide, and needful. Raphael stares and you take the smallest step forward. But instead of coming closer, Raphael lets his hand fall from your grasp.

"That was Leo," he says, telling you what you already know.

"Ok." Your short nod is a familiar one. Just as his goodbye will be. 

"Mikey found a lead. I gotta go."

You think maybe tonight’s goodbye hurts more than the others. 

You barely register the lonely walk up the stairwell. By the time you reach your floor, you know Raphael is already sprinting across town by the rooftops. 

Your palm is hot with the memory of holding his hand. With the texture of his shell under your touch. Your fist curls around the phantom sensations regardless of how silly it is to think you can hold onto the feelings forever. 

You can’t help but sigh with want for the loss of him. For the loss of the kiss that seemed a hair's breadth away before Raphael's hand dropped from yours. 

It would have softened the goodbye; it would have been a sign. It would have been a long time coming. With a heavy heart, you think, It'll be a long time still. 

You can't force Raphael to move faster than he's willing to go. And if he's not comfortable, if he doesn't feel safe exploring the feelings you both clearly share, then you'll go at his pace. You’ll follow his lead. Quietly you admit to yourself, you’ll follow him anywhere.

You've been spending more and more time together. And now it seems like you have a standing dinner date for Tuesday nights. No, not a date. Dinner and movies and moonlit walks. Stargazing and late night phone calls. Family game nights and music exchanges. But no dates. Right. You're not dating.

And when you stand close or choose the seats closest to each other, when your heart leaps into your throat at his texts and your breath catches in your chest at each compliment, when his face lights up the moment he's caught sight of you, that's not a testament to your mutual attraction.

You flirt and you touch and everyone says that one day you'll be more than friends, but each day that passes without Raph taking the next step leaves you feeling like maybe everyone's imagining it all. 

Yawning and trying not to think about how your loneliness feels heavier tonight, you flick off the light in the hallway and walk into your bedroom. 

You're too focused on the drawstring tie of your pajama bottoms to notice the large form seated at your window. But once you look up, there's no way you can miss Raphael's imposing figure. 

Only, he doesn't look intimidating at all. In fact, he looks smaller than he's ever seemed. And it's not that he's lost bulk. No, it’s the way he stoops and curls in on himself, as if afraid to take up too much space. And it breaks your heart to see your boisterous, confident warrior like this twice in a night.

"Raph?"

He grinds his fist into his palm, refusing to meet your eye. "I'm always cuttin' out." It's an apology and an accusation against himself rolled into one.

"It's ok."

"Naw, it ain't. Ya deserve so much better than that." His accent is heavier than usual; his voice thick with emotions you can tell he’s holding back.

You let what he says hang, afraid anything said to the contrary might incite an argument. It would be so easy to fall into the trap, so easy to say the wrong thing and push him away. So, you draw him closer instead. 

"You must be tired," you acknowledge delicately. "I know I'm beat, and I wasn't the one running all over the city chasin-"

He holds up a hand to stop you from going further. He doesn't like to drag you into the mess of what's going on. Foot soldiers were one thing. But since the aliens and mutants started popping up, he’s tried to shelter you from whatever the News doesn't cover.

"Come on," you say, climbing onto the bed. You don't direct him to lie with you, you don't ask for a cuddle. But the request is implicit. Even if these are things the two of you don't ask for out loud.

When he sits against the headboard, you slide into place as you've done dozens of times before. The weight of his arm curls around you, a shelter and a shield. Your head and hand fall gently to his chest and he lies back with a quiet sigh. 

You draw circles over his heart, following the swirling pattern of his plated plastron and perhaps this would be the time when other couples open their hearts and talk about their feelings. But you don’t expect that from Raphael. Not when words are so difficult. 

When emotions run high, he lies low. And you have always taken Raphael - you've always loved him - as he is. 

It's a long while of silence. But it's comfortable and sweet. 

You gather every minute. Clutch them tight. Cherish them. It sometimes feels like you steal these moments from his hectic life. You don't take a second for granted.

His blunt fingertip follows the shell of your ear and your heart skips with the yet unspoken affection between you. He stops at your earlobe, offering slight pressure. Distracted by his thoughts, he rubs the soft flesh between his thumb and forefinger. 

Raphael draws in a deep breath and the shift in his pattern has your full attention. 

"What if..." Raphael starts and stops. His voice sinks into the space between you, rough and broken. "What if we were doin' this for real?" 

Hearing him struggle for words, you hate to ask for clarification. “This?"

Raphael's breath hitches and you swallow hard to push down your rising nervousness. "You and me. But, y'know..."

"For real," you finish his thought.

"Yeah.” His focus is on the delicate curve of your ear, the slope of your neck, anywhere but your eyes. “Know I ain't good enough,” he says and gives a small grunt to clear his throat from shaking. “Know I'm always gone or leavin'. But when I'm not, I wanna be here."

You tuck your chin and rest your forehead on his chest. Your 'yes' sounds more like a whimper than a word; you're not sure Raphael heard it for what it is. 

His words burrow into your heart, and the muscle aches as if his confession has expanded the muscle.

You confess more clearly, "I want you here," and your arms encircle him as best they can and squeeze. 

Raphael combs his fingers through your hair. He pets and waits, and you lift your gaze to his.

His green eyes shine, catching the glow of the bedside lamp. "...That mean we're doing this thing?” Hope tremors through his chest and your palm tingles with the vibration. “Cause I been wanting to kiss ya."

You crawl up beside him and plant a little kiss on his cheek. His skin grows warm and dark. Then, with a hand on his neck, you coax him to turn for more. The kiss is natural and safe. It feels like home, with the excitement of a favorite holiday. Your heart flutters and flips. You smile against Raphael's lips.

When his phone interrupts your night again, you kiss his cheek and settle back on the pillows to allow him room to answer the call. 

“Leo?” Raphael relaxes immediately, then flushes dark, and gives a nervous chuckle.

Your smile returns easily. Watching Raphael’s relationship with Leo evolve has been a warm thrill for everyone who knows them. 

“Yeah, I did.” Raphael answers Leo, and his hand sneaks toward you over the mattress. Though still wrapped up in the call, he hooks a finger over yours and smiles. “Yeah, I am.”

Raphael gives a contented grunt before tugging you close. You can hear Leo on the line as the pair of brothers exchange goodbyes.

“...happy for you, Raph,” Leo says and you blush at the approval. “I’m proud of you.”

Raphael stills in your embrace, unable to respond to his older brother's praise. Leo is understanding; he ends the call and Raph sets the phone aside without a word. 

You cup Raphael's face and look into his eyes. You take your time, gazing down at him in a way you felt hasn’t been your right or privilege until now. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

“Didn’t do nothin’,” Raphael mumbles humbly, his eyes transfixed on you. 

But you know the truth of it now. Going to Leo for support, for help, still doesn’t come easily for Raph, despite the closeness they’ve gained. And if Leo is checking in, asking about you, then Raphael must have confided in him. Trusted him with his vulnerability.

You give Raphael a soft shake of your head and a firm kiss on the lips. "Wasn't nothing." 

With your nose nuzzled against his, you tell him again. Because there are more words to be said - more you'd like for him to hear, and believe, and maybe one day say back. But today you'll start with this. 


End file.
